Untouchable
by WheatleyAndrews
Summary: The sequel to "Adrenaline", and, by extension, "Incentives". Peeta runs away from the Career camp after a scare from Clove, and Cato comes to find him. In the end, there are three. Fluff, and then kinky lemon! CatoxPeeta, M is very justified. R&R! :D


**A/N: Bondagey kinky lemon, after Cato finds Peeta hidden among the rocks. If you don't like bondage, leave. Takes place the day after Katniss makes the supplies go boom rather satisfyingly. Muahaha. So yeah, enjoy the man lovins and sappery dappery sap. Be sure to read 'Incentives' and 'Adrenaline' first!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. NOTHING. Jesus.**

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iixii

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Untouchable

by wheatleyandrews

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iixii

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It starts with the morning you weren't there. The blaze of the gamemakers' sun finds its target square on my face. The sunlight warms me, but the warmth of you against me has gone.

Instinctively my hand flies to the sword at my side. She's got you. I pull myself sit up, fingers trailing across the sheath. I can feel my muscles tense. She's got the one thing I made sure she couldn't get. She ruined our supplies, murdered our comrades and kept me from you. In the dark of the arena's cold night, I pulled you close into my stomach. My hands snaked through around your torso and I basked in the oven's warmth of our contact. You were mine, snuggled deep against me in the darkness, every ripple of your warm, sweet-smelling body flush against mine. I made sure the baker boy was untouchable. My chin buried in your golden hair, our feet intertwined, I whispered that you were mine. The boy who saved my life. My little admirer. My baker boy. And you whispered back that there was nothing you'd rather be except completely mine.

But I wake to find my arms empty.

At first the girl on fire sets my mind ablaze. Of course, she'd come to steal you away in the night after hearing the change in the rules. It wasn't enough that she'd destroyed your chances of winning by setting off the mines at our camp; she had to have you too. And now that two can win, you thought you'd never find your way home if you stayed with me, so what would be the use? You didn't consider who really cared for you, only whichever alliance would give you the greatest chance of homecoming. I know you don't love her. You didn't go after her when she was stung; you stayed back at my cry for help. You had the perfect avenue of escape to your girlfriend. There's nothing I could have done to stop you, waltzing around like your drunken mentor, in anaphylaxis and fading away from the world with every racing second. Instead, you saved my goddamn life. But now, have you had a change of your fickle heart? Has the pendulum swung back to your poor little huntress? Don't think that the girl on fire is on fire for you. She's a chessmaster, carefully moving her pawns.

And don't you dare fall for her again. You're still mine.

So when Clove returns with a breakfast of berries and nuts scavenged from the forest we made camp in, the fire Katniss Everdeen has set in my mind swiftly extinguishes. The knife in her hand is drenched in blood, though she returns without meat. I ask where you've gone as a ruddy drop dyes the dust. She only smirks as she watches my mouth fall slowly open and my eyebrows furrow. "Let's just say lover boy's not going to be that much of a threat anymore." The girl on fire wasn't your captor after all. I feign a chuckle as Clove lifts a purple berry to her lips.

At the last second, I decide not to tell her they're nightlock.

The cannon comes as soon as her body slumps against the tent floor, ripping through the arena as juice trickles down her lips. I told her I got the fucking higher grade in wilderness. I plunge my sword into her abdomen for good measure. I mangle as much as I can of her stomach, and grubbing her reddened blade from her lifeless hands I tear into her face. If that's how her family raised her to be, a two-timing, team-betraying, bloodthirsty little bitch, they don't deserve to get a pristine little cadaver in a plain brown box, the red Panemese flag draped over top, with a little card saying 'We respect and congratulate your daughter's confidence, courage and sacrifice'. No, they deserve to get her body how she's earned it to be; every slash, cut and tear marring her perfect flesh. Every slice that tears open her skin calms me further. Each thought of her future brings me to tranquility. She's dead, gone, hated by everyone and never going to be remembered.

But you're still gone, scared away from my caress.

The blood covers my arms up to my elbows when I've decided I'm finished. I wipe them in whatever's left untouched. Her crimson trickle seeps into her hair and down into her shoes, staining every piece of cloth on her skin maroon. You couldn't recognize Clove Hoasby if you tried. Not even the Capitol could fix this one. I gather the small stack of supplies we salvaged from camp and run through mental inventory as I wedge each into my kit. Spare tent, a set of anti-anaphylaxis drugs with the epinephrine missing, a flask, a coil of thick-gauged wire, a folding crossbow with bolts, a couple sets of emergency rations… Only one thing is missing, something you made sure to pick from the wreckage: a set of camouflage paints.

And then I realize how loud the cannon which sounds at the death of each tribute is. I may be a heavy sleeper- hell, you proved that by slithering from my grasp deep last night- but there's no way that cannon wouldn't have woken me.

You're okay. You're okay, and hiding, but I can find you.

Or so I hope.

I slide my kit over my shoulders as I leave the tent, the floor now soaked with the traitor's blood. Sure enough, as I delve between the trees of the forest's edge I hear the machined whirr of the hovercraft and the metallic clank of its claws' purchase as it drags the tent into its shining underbelly.

My heart drops when the realization hits me, staring out into nature's domain. You could be anywhere. The entire arena, and you'd blend perfectly in. Cake decorating must be more crucial to survival than it sounds. I feel my pulse staccato and my mind race as I contemplate what route you'd be most likely to take. It's uncomfortably warm as what of gamemaker's sunlight that sifts through the forest canopy pours onto me. I rest a hand on the tree beside me as I contemplate.

A crimson drop on the bark below my thumb catches my attention as it gleams, still wet, in the sunlight. Like a bloody blaze. But where there's a blaze, there's a trail to follow. I move forward into the forest, searching for another drop of you. And there it was, a meter ahead, perched upon the rough bark of an elderly oak. Suddenly, the trail reveals itself to me. An uneven path of grass, pushed back to expose the silvery undersides of the blades, bridges the gap between the trees and extend deep into the shrouding forest.

My pulse quickens. My feet move before my mind does. You never were the little fairy in the forest your girlfriend is. You might be able to hide yourself, but you forget to cover your tracks. Before I know it I've plunged deep into the forest as I follow your trail, my eyes searching for the silver as it snakes through the sanctuary below the shadowed sky. I break into a sweat, leaping across whatever obstacles the artificial nature throws in my path. They're not going to stop me from finding my baker boy.

All the while my mind can only focus on you. Finding you, caressing your soft, pale skin again, smelling bread and sweat on the freckles of your stomach, feeling you rutting against me like the first night I owned you. Our time together has only been a scant few days, but every faction of my mind has screamed to stand by your side since you first propositioned to join the careers at the Cornucopia. Now we're the only two careers left.

You could still choose her; go home to your precious little run-down coal mine hick haven. I have no doubt she could kill me. In a second I'd be on the ground, dead, arrow square in the center of my pupil. And then you'd just be the weight, trailing behind her as she disposes of the last of us, swept up, cleaned up and shipped home in our prefabricated coffins. You could go home to your poor little slum and live out your days baking and decorating, every day feeling the cold of your bed with nobody to wrap his arms around you and keep you untouchable. You could carry the guilt of killing your truer love, the man who protected you and tossed all other opportunities for survival to the wind, the man you led out of the forest to save his life, the man who owns you, on your shoulders.

But you can't handle guilt. That's why you became mine, when you surrendered your secrets to me on our first night together. You couldn't handle eating, drinking and killing with us without holding your end of the deal up. That's why you told us. You couldn't handle the guilt of abandoning me and saving her, betraying your alliance and your owner. That's why you gave me the adrenaline that saved my life. You couldn't handle the guilt of following Clove's demands and leaving peacefully when she told you you'd served your purpose last night. That's why you stood up against her and forced her to attack you rather than letting you get off scot free. So you won't be able to handle the guilt of betraying me, who's followed you all this way.

The silvery forest path you left for me winds on and on into the shadowy foliage. The further I run the darker it becomes as the trees and grasses grow thicker, choking out the manmade sun. I can hear the rush of water in the distance, muffled to a whisper by the array of leaves and trunks. The river must be ahead soon. The crest of a hill meets me, and as I peer down into the shallow valley below I can see the trees thin out as soil turns rocky; at least half a mile in the distance. There the river rushes and the sunlight's patches grow larger. In advance, I run my eyes down your silver strand, dodging by trees and pitfalls as it cascades through the grasses.

A dark creature appears suddenly in my eyes' periphery, halfway to the edge of the forest. It swings its head from side to side and I duck in the shade of a bush. Thankfully, it doesn't look up. Through the space allowed by the bush's leaves, I see it swing its head back as it finds your silver trail. A black ponytail swings to either side as Katniss Everdeen snakes through the grasses to find you. Frantically I pull through my kit, finding purchase on the crossbow. I can't have her taking my baker boy from me. I've got a clear shot to her from my near-perfect vantage point. Carefully I load the bolt cartridge into the bow and steady it against the strongest branch in my way, training the scope on her neck. She pauses, shaken, and my finger snaps deep into the trigger. As the bolt tears through the air and across the distance between us, another flash appears on the silver trail, dark arms latching below her head. I hear the snap of her spine an instant before the bolt finds its new target, sinking deep into Thresh's neck as he and Katniss fall to the ground.

Lifeless.

Two cannon bursts, and a thousand bets lost. Katniss Everdeen and Thresh Duncan, the girl on fire and the loner boy from eleven, are dead. That makes the three of us left, and now only one of us may be victorious. But I've still got to find you, and spend as much time as we can before, well-

"Attention tributes," the voice of Seneca Crane booms through the air to the final three. "There has been another slight alteration to the rules of the Games. The previous rule change allowed two tributes from the same district to be crowned if they are the last tributes remaining." I know it's been revoked now. Why do they have to make special note? There's no teams left anyway. It's null and void. "There has been a slight alteration to this rule. The final two remaining tributes will be crowned victor regardless of their district. Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

More people in the Capitol must have creamed their pants on that first night than I thought.

That, or our sponsors have lent quite a pretty penny to Seneca.

I fold the crossbow into its neat, compact rectangle and wedge it back into the confines of my kit. It's curious; the hovercrafts haven't yet come for their bodies. I nimbly fox down the slope into the valley. It's a full ten minutes' walk, and still nothing. Is it simply too deep in the forest to collect them? Or is there something they want me to see?

I come close to the fallen as the trees begin to thin out. There she lies, her neck bent at a jarring angle, pale cheek caressed by the forest floor. Thresh slumps ungracefully over her, bolt jutting into the air, neck wound still seeping sickly red blood as the indifferent birds twitter on above. Here you could hear the river in earnest, the crash of the falls pounding through the spaces of the trunks. In her right hand Katniss carries her bow. In her left… a shining brushed metal canister. A sponsor's gift.

I wrench the canister from her rigid hand and feel the icy sap of her fingers. We'd never come this close in life. With a clear view of her I can see the warmth of her pale skin as it basks in the dappled forest sunlight, a spray of freckles just under each stone-solid grey eye. Her black locks fall at random as they frame her face in perfect chaos. The girl on fire is stunning, even in death. I tear myself away as I pull the canister open. A note lies atop a another metal canister.

He's wounded and painted.

-H

I snag the note by its corner and carefully slide it into my pocket. My heart starts to race. If you need medicine, could I find you in time? As though on cue the gamemakers decide to send a small, lazy breeze in my direction. The silver trail begins to rise up, silvered glass slowly puffing back to normalcy. Time's ticking. Thinking quickly, I slough hefty Thresh off of Katniss, taking the kit from her back. She would want for whatever she has to help you. I'm about bound off on the quickly-disappearing trail before I notice her collar glint in the sunlight. A bronze pin, a mockingjay with an arrow in its beak, the token of 12. Something to remember her by. I detach it and let it slide into my pocket. I leave their bodies behind me and follow the silver path through the ever-thinner forest.

I remember the canister in my hand. It spins open at my pull, revealing a simple hypodermic needle full with a sickly purple fluid. A Capitol logo on the label.

EMERGENCY MRSA TREATMENT: For fast, effective treatment of severe symptoms caused by methicillin-resistant_ Staphylococcus aureus _infections, commonly known as staph infections. Elevate wound at least five inches. Inject into largest blood vessel nearest wound.

Shit. Staph. If I can't find you now- I spin the cap back into the cylinder and begin to sprint toward the edge of the forest, where the sun shines as the river reaches its falls. The heat of the sun in its full intensity strikes me all over, and I'm sweating. Where the hell could you be? There's no trail to follow you by anymore.

A single rosy drop on the slab of rock proves me wrong. There's another, a meter in front. Like breadcrumbs. A smile pulls at my face. You're going to be alright, and I'm going to find you and fix you, and make you mine like you've never been before. Gingerly I follow the trail of bloodstains as they pepper the narrow stones of the river's shore. Every rock, every tree, every tuft of grass in the meadow comes under my scrutiny as I pass by it. I know one of them is mine.

The bloody trail stretches along the riverside for what feels like miles. How have you hidden yourself this well from me? I'm getting too frustrated to even find the next dot. Where is it? I can't lose you.

A croak from beside my foot. "Cato?" My heart palpitates and I stare down in shock. There lies a pair of eyes a piercingly innocent blue, jutting out from the rock. "Cato, it's-" I see your lips move, but you can't finish your sentence.

Because by then, I'm already on my knees and kissing you deeply. Your face is streaked with black and grey, indistinguishable from the blocks and stones that surround your perfect face. I pull away and you whimper. "I'm sorry for leaving you. Clove-"

"Peeta, it's alright. You're mine again now and we can win." Your precious smile beams through the camouflage, lighting a heavy fire in my chest. You push up to press your lips against mine once more, hungry for a taste of me, but I push you away. "Where are you hurt?" Your smile drops, dejected.

"My leg, but my arm is much worse." You hands slither from underneath the river rocks and come into my grasp as I help you up. The feel of your fingers in mine reassures me. I've found you again, and I'm going to make you better. You're rosy all over and your blonde locks are swept back, slick and gleaming with sweat. As you rise to your feet you fall into me, and I hold you close as you limp along and lean into me.

"Where's the infection?" For a second, you're puzzled, but you see the metal canister in my hand and your visage clears as you deduce the origin of my knowledge.

"My arm; I got a scrape coming through the forest on the day of the tracker jackers. It must be worse than I thought."

We come to the shallowest part of the river, and you point out the spot where not a week ago we lay in the shade on the shore. "Funny how the tables turn," you joke.

"I figure my life debt will be repaid. You saved my like once. It's only fair I save yours."

"And then once you've magically cured me we'll make love all day in the sunshine?" Your painted eyebrow perks.

"Wouldn't be the first for the Games." I pull you down to the edge of the river to sit as you laugh.

"That was Finnick Odair, though. It was almost obligatory." I dip my hands in the river water and begin to smear away the paint that hides your face.

"And he was 14." Your forehead shows, bright red.

"So was the girl."

I push you down onto the rocks. "You're burning up, Peeta."

"But your magical medicine will make me all better, right?" I tug on your shirt and pull it away. Your entire torso is beet red, oven hot to the touch as I spread the cool river water over it. Through your pants a ragged tear exposes a deep cut into your tender thigh, and I wipe away the blood and grime with the hem of my shirt. It's Clove's doing, still fresh and bleeding, too fresh to be infected.

"You said your arm was worse." You lift your right arm and I grasp it as it shakes. I can feel my brow furrow in anger. There, along the backside streaking up from your elbow glares a weeping crimson stroke, bordered by clusters of bright blisters and hives. You wince as I blow on the festering wound. "You left it raw?" I glare into your soft blues but you glance away, keeping from eye contact.

"It was healing alright at first, scab and all. I didn't think it was serious enough to-"

"Of course it's serious enough to warrant fixing up, baker boy. I ought to slap you." Now that I remember it, you had been constantly fidgeting with your sleeve every day since you saved me.

"You were more important! You were nearly dying in my hands. I had no choice by to take care of you!" My frown turns sharp.

"And look what it cost you now!" My voice rises involuntarily.

"So what? I was just supposed to abandon you in the forest?"

I lean in close to your defiant face and nearly spit in disgust. "No, but you can't just lose all concern for yourself like that." I sigh, pushing all my frustration out with my breath, and pull the hypodermic needle out from the canister. "I don't like to see things I own broken."

"Do you just replace them if they break?" I peer down, and at first your face is straight but now your smile is sly.

"No, I fix them and love the fuck out of them even more than I already did." I flick the needle's carafe to ensure the medicine hasn't settled. "Now shut your fucking trap, this is going to hurt."

"It's good to have you back." Your last words are muffled against my hand, and I can feel your whimper as I prick your skin and renew your life, pushing the plunger down as far as it would go. As I lay down on the rocks beside you, you wince as I tug the needle from your skin. "I heard three cannons. Who's dead, besides…" You hesitate, "Katniss?"

You're deductive. Seneca wouldn't have bothered otherwise. "Clove and Thresh. Which just leaves the girl from 5, Tezla, you and me." I turn on my side and inch closer to you, but you just stare off into the baby blue afternoon sky. There's a beat of silence.

"Did you kill her?" Your voice is quiet and concerned.

"No, she got lucky. Nightlock. I made sure she got what she deserved though, what with scaring you off-"

You cut me off. "I meant Katniss."

"No." I feel my voice become smaller. "Thresh got to her-" _first. _My instincts keep me from spouting the final word. "I killed Thresh." Your frown lightens.

"Good." You sit up, and try to pull yourself to your feet but fall back into the rocks. My hands are there to catch you, and I help you to stand. I consider the pin hidden in my pocket. Not yet.

"We need to find shelter." I toss my arm around your shoulders and we move slowly into the river together, wading through the current and over the worn stones, trusting each other's touch. For a while, we're nervously silent, and only as we come to the far shore do you pipe up.

"Do you think we can win?" You glance to me and your innocent blues are nervous. "Get out of here, together?"

"Of course." I caress the tender muscle of your back to assure you as we enter the forest, and I can feel the shiver I send racing down your skin. "And every day for the rest of our lives we'll be set, together. You'll tend to me, make me soup when I'm sick, probably do one of those romantic breakfast in bed spiels. Every day you'll feel safe in my arms and hear nobody else's words but mine telling you what to do with those big, strong hands of yours." We chuckle together. "And every night, we'll fuck the darkness away until the sun rises and you're still begging for more of me, worshipping every part of my body." I feel your shiver again.

"Sounds like an interesting proposal. I'm just concerned about being able to walk after all that." You smirk, and your blush is hot enough to smoke.

"You know you want it, to feel me deep inside you under the starlight." Your blush turns maroon, but you yawn. "Don't tell me you think that's boring."

"No, of course not." Your chuckle warms me in the deepest confines of my soul. "It's just… the medicine must be making me drowsy."

"Here, let's camp for a while." I ache to pull you close to me again, knowing every part of you surrenders to my hands.

"What about Tezla?" You've got a point. I quickly search for a hidden place to camp, and my eyes happen across the secluded entrance to a cave on your right, hidden among a spray of cattails and vines.

"Here." I peel away the vines and thorns, pulling you down into the tight confines of rock. We pull deep into the cave as it flattens out a few feet into the ground. There's no time to explore before you're mewling against my chest, and I push you down onto the cave floor. On a smooth expanse of dry stone I tug you close to me, burying my nose deep in your golden locks, soft pearl strands in the little light the gamemakers can force into our new safe haven.

There's the smell, of bread and sweat. Of you. "Cato," you whisper, "we don't have to sleep right now if you don't want to." My mind's eye can see your smirk.

"Shut up. You've proven you can't be left alone." My arms snake around your sun-warm chest, and I pull you as close into me as I can without smothering you completely. You chuckle and I shush you. "Sleep for now."

I make sure that my little baker boy is untouchable.

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iixii

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The light is gone when I hear your voice beam through the chilling cave's air. "Cato?" Five hours were lost, and the gamemakers decided that was time enough for night to swallow up the arena. You were out like a light in my arms, stolen away from me in your sleep by the medicine that kept death from stealing you away. I kept you wrapped close into my torso as your puffing breaths fell softer and softer from your lips, each new rise and fall of your strong chest inviting me to join you in the paradise of sleep. And _just_ as I manage to succumb to sleep… "Cato, are you awake?" A cutting whisper.

"Now I am." I feel your writhe body turn over in my arms as you ferret up my body to reach eye level, never breaking precious contact. "You feeling better?"

"I can't even feel a scar on the back of my arm." Instead of running your fingers over your wound, however, you trail them over my cheek. "I had a nice dream, Cato." There's no light to see your innocent blues by, but i know now their pure demeanor is deceiving.

"Yeah, about what?" Your body ruts close to mine. I feel you grow warmer against my touch.

"Your little proposal."

"Oh, remind me again, my little admirer?"

Our lips are close. "We win, get out of here, live together, and every day I do what I do best."

"Kiss me?" I attempt to bridge the narrow gap, but your stubborn lips keep moving.

"Take care of you. There at your every order, by your side at your whim."

"Why, because you're my submissive little pet?"

"Because I love you." You cock your head and tuck in close, sending sparks flying between us as our heavy, soaking lips finally touch.

My voice is a ghostly, wet whisper as we pull away. "You forgot one minor detail, baker boy."

"That is?"

"Me fucking you senseless every goddamn night." You shudder but a press comes into my thigh.

"Of course; in my dream I worshipped your cock like the Capitol worships the Games." Your hands tug wildly at the corners of my shirt and I let you peel it away, tossing the shapeless cloth into the cave's unseen limits. Our chests are bonfires against the icy air, rippling bodies pressed flush together. Every touch is a firework as your hands scour up and down my spine.

"I bet you'd like to try that right now, huh?" I almost purr at the thought.

"Of course, Cato. I'm so goddamn horny." You almost growl.

"That's too bad."

"What?" The passion and lust of your voice is gone.

"Strip. Now." There's a swift second of silence. "I said now." My chest is shocked by the freezing night air as you pull away, but a deep, dirty warm grows inside me as I hear your pants shuck off. "Belt." Another second of silence. "Peeta, give me your goddamn belt now, or God help me you'll never have the privilege of worshipping me." The cool metal slides against my fingers and I snatch it from your palm. I sit up, cross legged on the dry, rough stone.

"What are you-" I silence you with my free hand and my palm wets in the aftermath of our kiss. I slide the belt into your mouth and fasten it behind your neck, fasting it tight to keep you gagged open and silent.

I want to see your eyes, I want to feel the fear in them, of being totally at my disposal.

I know the people of Panem are watching, as just then the artificial moon hovers over the cave's entrance, flooding light into our hideout. I can see how hard I've made you and I can't help but laugh at the pure pride of your length jutting hard into the cold stone night. "Peeta's been a very bad little baker boy today, hasn't he?" Your breath is rough and ragged against the leather trap in your mouth.

"Kneel." Your knees strike the floor of the cave and I'm staring down into your pleading blue eyes, welling slowly on the sides. "He wants to be punished for being a bad boy, doesn't he?" After a second you nod.

For an instant I'm worried. I'm not going to rape you. But my ripping stare into your eyes never ends, and with another nod which moves your pleading pupils I have all the consent I'll need. "Hands." There's no hesitation this time, your hand flying together in front of you as I snake my own belt from its denim loops and wrap it around your wrists to keep them immobile. "Lay down in front of your owner."

The white moonlight cascades down the curves and cuts of your irresistible frame as you struggle to follow my orders, earning a brushburn as you worm against the sandpaper stone, whimpering softly as your proud cock is smothered by the scratch of rock. The taut globes of your ass nearly shine in the bright light. I slowly set my hand on them, rubbing back and forth across your tender, untouched skin as your ragged breaths become slow and calm, subdued by your owner's loving caress.

I slowly lift my hand away and your entire body twitches in anticipation. You want it. As swiftly as I can I smack my hand against your ass, a loud crack resonating across the stone walls of the cave. You cry out sharply. "That one was for leaving." I carefully knead my hand across your pained flesh before smacking it harder. "That one was for not killing Clove right there on the spot." Your cry is louder and longer before it dies away, but I'm itching to revel in your pain again. Another solid smack. "That one was for not caring enough about yourself." It's a rhythm now, at every beat my lust burning hotter. _Smack_. "That one was for hiding from me." Your yelps have grown weak and unsatisfying at every new pulse of pain. I pull my hand back as far as I can before it flies into your flesh. "That one was for not begging for my forgiveness." I can no longer wait for you to even finish your scream. _Smack_. "That one was for trying to take control." _Smack_. "That one was for talking back to me." Your ass glows pink against the moonlight which casts all else ghostly white. A final smack sweeps across your reddened skin. "That one was because you're my total bitch, and you know you wanted it." Your pained groan sounds into the night, but I can feel the pleasure in your voice.

"Turn over." You struggle to flip against the rock floor, but convulse your body enough to face the ceiling, proud cock still refusing to subdue. "I see baker boy enjoyed his little treat, didn't he?" You nod slowly. "And baker boy is very happy to be with his owner again, isn't he?" I kneel close to the shining lavender head of your throbbing hard length as I shuck away my own pants. "Looks delicious." I spit into my palm and begin to stroke myself as I peer as the feast before me. "Another one of your little sweets, saved just for me?"

My free hand ghosts up your length and spasm into my palm, whimpering against my touch. "Don't worry," I chuckle a little to myself, "I'll spare you the eclair puns." Your breathing speeds up. You know it's no time to laugh. "As long as I can have a second taste."

Your groan is louder than any other as I descend on your hardened length, slowly pumping and smoothing the base while teasing your swollen head with my tongue and lips. With each new groan I come closer to my climax. I release my hand, wet with my precome, from around my cock and slither three fingers into your gagged mouth. I feel your tongue in every crevice of my fingers, aching for every bit you can taste.

Involuntarily you begin to buck into my grip and mouth, desperate for my warm tongue to explore every inch of your length. Your mouth wets my fingers into prunes as you suck on them the best you can, straining to close your lips over the belt that forces them apart. I feel your swelling cock grow larger and longer in my mouth, and your virginity shows. It's barely been three minutes before you're ready to spend in my mouth.

But I'm not letting you come yet. It's not over until I say. I slither from your length, letting its heavy warmth seep out between my lips. I steal my fingers from your mouth and drag them down across your chest, painting lines of your passioned saliva down your hot chest, so warm it seems it should sizzle. Carefully my index finger trails down your thigh and to your warm hole, where it slowly presses against your puckered entrance. "Virgin?" I see you nod in the moonlight, but your head tosses back again as I grip your cock with my free hand and begin to teasingly stroke. "Good. Now you'll be marked as mine forever." I grind my finger into your pulsing flesh and harden my grip around your length.

You're in agony as my first finger slips inside you, swallowed by your tight warmth. I slowly work you open, shifting around in the crevice of your warm virgin ass, stretching your ring wider and wider. With each deeper stretch delving into your depths your moans vibrate straight through your body and your ring tightens around my single finger. You're bucking into my hand again as my second finger pokes at your entrance.

"Ready for the next?" All that escapes your lips is a serious of disjointed squeals and moans, but you nod through to signal your consent. My second finger joins my first, plunging in to the hilt, massaging you deep inside. There's no pause between your outbursts now, only a steady flow of sweet passionate whimpers. Even though my hand has long since left my cock to pleasure you, I'm rock hard, jutting out into the night, pulsing harder at every sound which escapes your body.

Just as my final finger brushes along your hole to join the others, I can feel you start to shake in my hands as the my two fingers deep inside you find your prostate, stroking up and down, teasing. You're bucking with wild abandon into my hand now, your hot moans climbing in ecstasy and volume as I stroke you faster and faster deep inside and on your length.

I dip to encase your purple head with my lips just as your orgasm rips through your being, forcing you to scream out in pure euphoria as every shot of your essence pours into me. Your bitter salt covers my tongue and every crevice of my hungry mouth, coating me completely with your taste. I sit up, and smiling at your dishevelment, sweating in waterfalls, your hair unkempt, gagged mouth breathing in heavy rags as you come down from your heaven, and decide that you're ready.

I spit your essence out onto my palm and carefully wet my aching length. "Flip over, Peeta." I can see your intimidation in the way your innocent blue eyes, panicked, trace down my swollen cock. "Scared?" You shake your head after a moment. Little gay boys always lie. You slowly shift onto your belly. "Present your ass to its owner." As your buttocks climb towards the cave ceiling, you pant like the bitch in heat you are. "Are you ready for me, baker boy?" Your nod is so small it barely registers. I reach to loosen the belt that gags you and it slithers from your mouth to collar around your neck. "I want to hear you scream my name."

"Cato, Cato, Cato, Cato…" A river of my name springs from your lips as I move my hands to rest on your hips. "Do it, do it now, I need it so badly. I need it, I need it…"

"Need what?" Let's play with the baker boy, shall we? My cock head, slicked with your come, is full square with your tight, open hole.

"I need to feel you inside me." Your voice is a miserable wet rasp, hot and heavy with lust. "Please Cato, do it."

"Beg. Beg me to fuck you deep in your ass." My cock slowly swirls around your puckered entrance and you writhe as the warmth and wet.

"Fuck me, fuck me, please, I need your cock, I need your hard cock deep in my ass, I need to feel it inside me, I need to take your cock." Silenced pants. Whispers.

Ever so gingerly I push forward into you, rocking into your wet, stretched opening. The flare of my cockhead stretches your ring, and you yelp as my head stretches your hole to its apex. Quickly I'm swallowed inside your tight warmth, pushing deeper and deeper with every inch. The harder I push, the louder you scream.

"Cato, Christ, fuck me now, fuck me…"

I'm only halfway inside you when my head brushes over your prostate and your back arches in ecstasy. The tourniquet feel of your oven nearly makes me explode right then and there. "Peeta, Peeta…" I can't form a sentence. I thrust in as hard as I can, but three quarters is as far as you can take me, your moans and yelps swelling my cock further. I pull out slowly, down to the first inch, and with all the strength in my body I thrust into you again. "You're so goddamn tight…" A trickle of sweat pours down my cheek as a rhythm develops, an ever-faster tempo of push and pull, release and engage, thrust and fuck. My hand grasps your collar and your head whips back, joining the beat.

I wrap my free hand around your cock, length hardened once more by every trail over your prostate as my cock trails inside you. We reach a staccato and my hand is rubbing you toward oblivion faster and faster, accelerating by the second. "Cato, I'm about to… I'm about to come-" Your final word is lost in a scream as you come again, pouring over my pumping hand, the second time tonight. The same euphoria speeds out from your cock and prostate and elevates your heart and mind into electric pleasure.

Your ring tightens around me as your cock spills onto the cold stone floor. "Peeta, get ready, baker boy… get ready to feel me." I can feel the edge, and I smash as hard as I can into you, a string of curses emanating from my lips. "You're so fucking tight, my little admirer… my baker… my Peeta-" I shout the final word as I'm thrown over the edge by your warmth, ribbons descending into your deflowered body. "You're mine, you're mine, you're marked, you're mine…" I quiet to a whisper as you pant in the darkness, the feel of my essence filling your every nook as I pull slowly from your confines.

I carefully alight on the rocks as you smile at my every glance, devilish blue finally fulfilled. "Cato, that was-"

"Wonderful? Euphoric? Amazing? Fantastic?" I lean close into your mouth as I undo your collar. "I'm pretty sure the heavens descended on earth." Our lips neap together and I revel in the wetness on yours. A quick, chasté lap, but you whine for more and I have to tear myself away as I undo the belt which holds your hands fast. "How do you feel?"

After a pause, "Starlike." I can't help but laugh.

"Starlike?" I ruffle through my kit for a blanket, and wrap it snugly around us both to fend off the night's cold with our naked, insulated touch.

"A little hungry too." You yawn deeply.

"We'll have time to cover that in the morning, little baker boy. Maybe you can bake a thing or two?" As my arms slither around your writhe torso, I hear no dry chuckle or sly response. Sleep has already called you away.

There's no matter; he can have you for now. All I want is for you to be untouchable in my arms


End file.
